Reckless
by Linndechir
Summary: Landa loses control. -Landa/Hellstrom, asphyxiation-


Disclaimer: The characters in this fic do not belong to me.

Author's note: Plotless strangulation kink. This is entirely Mr Waltz's fault for giving me an asphyxiation kink. It was brought to my attention that I failed to go into more detail when I mentioned strangulation in La Musica delle Parole. This little PWP, which is completely unrelated to La Musica delle Parole, is just an attempt to make up for that. Thanks to Nariel for suggesting the additional gun play.

* * *

The smooth skin was hot underneath his hands, and Landa felt like the touch alone set his hands on fire. He looked down into that pretty face, pale eyes wide with fear and confusion, breaths coming more quickly than usual.

Landa smiled and ran his thumb over the slender neck. He pressed a little to feel the pulse, slightly accelerated, but not racing. Hellstrom's body was still, as if he expected to be punished for the slightest movement … which wasn't a far-fetched assumption. Straddling him, Landa could feel the stomach muscles tensing and relaxing against his thighs, even through both their uniforms, but that wasn't what aroused him most.

His right hand found its way from Hellstrom's sleek hair down to his throat, joining the other one. Hellstrom had a neck as slender and graceful as any girl's, and Landa had found himself staring at his throat more than once, whenever Hellstrom threw his head back a little to blow out the cigarette smoke. His skin was white and soft, the paleness only emphasised by the little moles.

Hellstrom's lips parted a little when Landa's hands moved around his neck, but he still didn't struggle. Landa had to admire so much restraint - he could see the fear in Hellstrom's eyes, but also the stubborn determination not to show it, as well as the good sense not to disobey the direct order not to move.

Landa couldn't take his eyes off those full lips when his grip tightened a little, causing Hellstrom to draw in a deep breath, like a swimmer just before he dove down. But even before he could fill his lungs Landa squeezed, cutting off his air supply so abruptly that Hellstrom seemed to forget all orders and grabbed Landa's upper arms in a weak attempt to push him away.

Landa leant forward, his weight putting even more strength into his grip. Hellstrom was struggling for breath, desperately trying to get some air into his lungs. His lips were moving, releasing a high-pitched, strangled little noise as he tried to force air through his windpipe.

There was more strength in this thin body than Landa had expected, and it was only his weight that kept Hellstrom down. His struggling sent Hellstrom rubbing against Landa's groin, but the Colonel's eyes still didn't move away from his face. Hellstrom's eyes were wide and glassy, tears welling up in them already. Landa squeezed harder, impatient to see them spill down.

It was only a matter of seconds until Hellstrom's hands loosened their grip on Landa's upper arms, long fingers holding on weakly to the uniform jacket before they fell down onto the hard floor, incapable of anything but helpless thrashing.

Landa groaned when the first tear rolled over a flushed cheek, closely followed by another one. The strangled noises - they couldn't even be called gasps, gasping implied breathing - were more frequent now, just as the thrashing grew weaker and weaker.

Landa knew that it wouldn't take much longer now. Hellstrom's flailing was so powerless by now that Landa hardly needed his strength anymore to keep him down. All movement seemed to have stopped except for the quivering of his lips and the rapid blinking of his eyelids. Just a bit longer and he would stop moving altogether. A few seconds, a little bit more pressure with nothing but his bare hands, and the proud, arrogant Major Hellstrom would simply be gone, his brilliant mind extinguished just because of Landa's hands around his throat. Hellstrom's eyes were already glassy and empty, even his panic replaced by pure pain.

Landa squeezed until the last possible moment before he let go, hands suddenly relaxing. For a moment he almost suspected that he might have held on a bit too long, but fortunately Hellstrom took in a deep gulp of air the moment Landa's grip loosened. Tremors ran through Hellstrom's body when he pushed himself up on his elbows, panting, every gasp accompanied by a pained moan.

Almost a minute passed while Landa just stared at him hungrily, still straddling him, until Hellstrom's breathing became more regular again, although it was still too quick and hitched. His trembling hands found their way to his own throat, touching the reddened skin numbly. Landa carefully put his hands on Hellstrom's and pressed them more tightly against his neck, almost tempted to start this game anew. He increased the pressure a little, moaning himself when Hellstrom gave a surprised little gasp.

Hellstrom looked so delicate with his fluttering eyelids and parted lips, so young, so hurt and vulnerable, such an exquisite toy that it would be a waste to break it so early. Where would Landa find a neck like this again, such a beautiful, panting mouth, a throat that could make such delicious sounds?

His hands moved up a little to frame Hellstrom's face and pull him closer, until their chests touched and Landa could feel it rising and falling rapidly against his. Landa knew that his heartbeat was not one bit calmer than Hellstrom's though - almost choking the boy to death had been too much to bear, and he wanted nothing more but to grab him and grind him into the floorboards.

He reprimanded himself for the thought immediately. This was exactly why he couldn't allow himself this pleasure too often. Hellstrom was too terrified to notice it, but Landa's own hands, shaking had they not been firmly pressed against Hellstrom's skin, were only one of many signs of his loss of control.

Suddenly angry at himself for letting go so much Landa pushed Hellstrom away, forcefully ignoring the inviting sight of the weakened body slumping to the floor. Landa quickly rose to his feet and ran one hand through his dishevelled, even sweaty hair, noticing with dismay how hot and probably reddened his face was.

He straightened his uniform with stiff hands and looked down at Hellstrom. The Major's tie was askew, the top buttons of his shirt opened, and Landa scolded himself for probably looking just as overwhelmed as his shivering subordinate.

Almost on instinct his right hand went to his gun, following the sudden desire to get rid of this little brat who dared to affect him so much. He imagined putting that gun to Hellstrom's pale forehead, or maybe press it against those lips and into his mouth, shoving it in a little, watching Hellstrom's lips glide over the cold metal, before he would pull the trigger. But even before he even touched the gun he remembered that they were in Hellstrom's office, remembered that a shot would be heard, that he had no good, not even a bad explanation for killing one of the Gestapo's brightest minds.

Twenty minutes later, when he was sitting behind his own desk, calmed down and puffing on a cigarette, he was quite content that he hadn't lost his head and made what would have been the biggest mistake of his professional life, not to mention an unforgivable waste of entertainment. Hellstrom was indeed too valuable a toy to break because of a little moment of weakness. Landa would simply have to tend to his entertainment behind closed doors, and preferably not those of Hellstrom's office.


End file.
